Theory of Attachment [18+] [mxm]

05. I'm Looking For A Man In Finance, Trust Fund, Six Five, Big Dick

Morning hit Micah hard and fast and sent him waking with a jolt. He was constricted by his bedsheets pinning him to the mattress, and it was only once he sat up that he discovered that he'd been completely tucked in, the rest of the bed empty and perfectly made.

Micah teetered, bedhead and all, off to the side. He collapsed onto his pillow and groaned with great contempt, "Asshole..."

Reality trudged in with its great big moving boxes to set up shop in Micah's conscience. It was one thing to tell a guy he wasn't interested in dating, only to then be accused of being a tease. He could live with that mark on his character. He could not live with a character-ending flaw like fucking his best friend's brother.

He slapped his hands over his face once, twice, and thrice for good measure. What was he thinking? What was he thinking? What was he thinking?!

Alistair hadn't left a note, but in the post-climax haze, they'd talked the weekend through. He, like Benny and Erika, had Saturday and Sunday shifts: Micah, at the bar; Erika, at the thrift store; and Benny, at convenience store. Their jobs were within a one-block radius of the apartment, but also meant they wouldn't be spending the evening with Alistair on either days.

"That's fine," Alistair had said, "I have dinner with coworkers on Sunday, and tomorrow—or should I say today?—I'll be too exhausted to do a thing."

And thus, it was concluded that their one night stand would remain as such: a one night stand.

At the time, Micah had enough energy to clean up and make himself somewhat decent to fetch Alistair towels to clean with. He'd dampened a warm cloth under the sink, wrung it out, and returned to his room to find Alistair lounging on his side, his elegant back to the door.

Micah had stood there and openly stared at the wings on Alistair's shoulder blades. At his tapered waist, foliage swept up and around his dimples of Venus. A half-finished tattoo was on one asscheek, and his otherwise bare ass gave his skin the distinct impression of assless chaps.

Micah had snorted at the thought, which prompted Alistair to turn onto his back and say, "Are you laughing at my ass? I'm working on it, prick."

And now, awake, Micah could acknowledge that they'd both had a serious lapse in judgement to have slept together. Granted, it had been incredible, Alistair's body was irresistible to Micah, and he'd even gotten away with spitting (secondhand) into Alistair's mouth.

But it would never happen again.

There was too much at stake. For one, Micah still needed to compose a thoughtful and gentle way to break the news to Benny that Micah had fucked Alistair.

Sooner the better, he told himself as he got up for the day with a low groan. A familiar band of muscles beneath his glutes and inner thighs was sore, and everywhere else was still warm like he'd had a decent workout the night before bed.

Erika and Benny were back, though Erika's room was closed and her "SLEEPING. FUCK OFF." signs were turned forward. The 'FUCK OFF' sign was an indicator that she had company and to not disturb them.

Once in the kitchen, Micah realized what had woken him: the sound of a fresh batch of coffee being brewed by none other than an exhausted and shitty looking Benny.

"Hey," Benny said, stuffy. His eyes were pink.

Last he'd seen, Benny was getting betrothed or something. Whatever the case, crying definitely wasn't on Micah's post-midnight bingo card.

"What the fuck happened?" he said, knowing that the moment he did, Benny would burst into tears all over again.

And so he did. Benny's bottom lip wavered, eyes screwing up. Micah crossed the kitchen to squeeze Benny to him. He knew for a fact that, when in distress, Benny preferred to be suffocated either by a weighted blanket or by a person. So that was what Micah did with all his might.